Reforming the Rebel, Page 3

  Patience turned the corners of her mouth up ever so slightly and stood up. “You’re right, Mother.”

  “Right about what?” Robert asked, coming back into the kitchen.

  “Nothing, dear.” Lydia and Patience exchanged a secret grin. As overprotective as Lydia was, Robert was at least ten times worse.

  Patience shuddered as she imagined Robert finding out about her feelings for John. She was actually a bit concerned at the lengths her father would go to if he didn’t think John was a worthy candidate for her love. She was glad that her mother at least had the good sense not to say anything about John in front of her father.

  Robert trusted his wife enough not to ask for further information. He decided to change the subject. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

  “Roast chicken with sautéed spinach and mushrooms,” Lydia replied.

  “Wonderful. And what about dessert?” Robert asked, looking at Patience.

  “Chocolate custard, Father,” Patience said dutifully.

  Robert walked over and kissed Patience on the forehead. “You’re wonderful, sweetheart, do you know that?”

  Patience blushed. “Yes, Father.”

  Robert put his arm around his daughter. “There’s no way we would be able to keep going without your hard work and all that you do around here. When I see some of the other young people in this town, it makes me grateful to have you as my daughter.”

  “Thank you, Father. You and Mother taught me the importance of family and respecting your parents. I’m thankful to you two for making sure I learned the value of hard work and discipline. I’m glad I didn’t grow up in Creede, but I’m glad we live here now. There’s so much good that can be done here.” Patience felt like she had gotten a little carried away, but it was true. Creede seemed to attract a very specific type of person, and if anything went wrong, it seemed like terrible things started to happen. But there was a small group of people who were banding together to fight the darkness and corruption in power, and Patience was proud that she and her family were part of it.

  “Well said, my dear.” Robert said as he walked over to a small desk in the corner where he kept his ledger. It was time to work on the daily accounts.

  “I need to get some cocoa for the custard.” Patience excused herself.

  As she walked the narrow hallway toward the storeroom, she thought about John Jackson and what he might be doing that very moment. She thought he’d still be out on the delivery truck, making stops and helping carry the heavier boxes.

  She opened the door to the storeroom and found a large, heavy crate to prop the door open while she was inside. She didn’t want the same thing that had happened the day before to occur again. As she walked back inside the dim storeroom, she was shocked to find a woman standing in front of her.

  “Oh, honey.” The woman clucked her tongue. Patience realized with a start that it was the same dark-haired woman as yesterday. “There are things you don’t understand yet about your parents and their beliefs.”

  Patience blinked in confusion. “How do you know that? Are you friends with my parents?”

  The woman shook her head, seemingly impatient with all of Patience’s questions. “We don’t have time for that. I just needed to tell you that you are going to have to go against your parents’ wishes very soon. You need to do it, Patience. Your future depends on it.”

  Patience was frustrated. Who was this woman, and why was she telling her what to do? “I don’t even know what that means. And I know my parents can overdo it a little because they want to protect me, but I respect their opinions, and I intend to obey their rules while I live in their house. With all due respect, I don’t even know who you are.”

  “I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.” The woman shook her head sadly. “Just remember what I said.”

  “Patience! Did you get lost?” a voice called out. Patience looked around the storeroom. The strange woman had vanished, and now someone was crying her name. Patience wondered for the second time in as many days if she was losing her mind. She quickly found the tin of cocoa powder, removed the crate propping open the storeroom door, and shut the door to the room.

  Patience hurried down the hallway, tin in her hand. “Yes?”

  “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t daydreaming about a certain young man.” Lydia eyed her daughter sternly as she bounded into the kitchen.

  “No, ma’am.” Patience tried to catch her breath. She wanted to tell her mother what she’d really been doing, but she was afraid her mother would say she needed to take a trip to the local mental institution. She stood there for a moment, lost in her thoughts.

  “Patience! That custard isn’t going to make itself,” Lydia warned.

  “Yes, Mother.” Patience snapped to attention. She would have to figure out who the mysterious woman was after she had finished her duties at the restaurant. All afternoon, the question troubled her. The woman had said that soon, she would need to disobey her parents. But why? And what would the consequences be?

  Chapter Three

  “You know, Nora Thomas looks very well recently. Marriage to Dr. Thomas has done her a world of good.” Hannah Wheeler twirled her needle through the cross-stitch she was sewing.

  “Oh, yes. And good for the children as well.” Millie Bing, the Reverend Callum Bing’s sister, added.

  Lydia Graham didn’t like to gossip, but she had to ask her women’s sewing group if they had any information on the young man her daughter had seemed so taken by. She prayed it was simply a passing phase. She knew Patience was getting toward the marrying age, but she wasn’t ready to lose her only daughter to a husband and a family of her own.

  Lydia bit her lip nervously. The Grahams were still fairly new to Creede, and she did not want to offend anyone or make an etiquette mistake. “I’ve seen her son, Willie, when he delivers packages to the restaurant . . . with John Jackson.”

  “Willie’s a dear,” Beatrice Jameson said, rocking her daughter, Sally, on her shoulder.

  “John seems like a nice young man,” Lydia said tentatively. She looked around the room, trying to read the other women’s faces. According to Millie, just the simple fact of a group of women gathering was rather remarkable. With all of the violence and danger in Creede, many men did not allow their wives or daughters to go anywhere unaccompanied. Lately, though, many of the women had begun to work together to help improve the town, and no one could object to their hard work and dedication—as long as they were careful, of course. They met in the church in Bachelor, where Millie’s brother presided.

  “Hm . . .” Millie coughed.

  Beatrice looked down.

  Lydia set her needlepoint down. “Oh, come on, ladies. What is it?”

  “It’s not that bad,” Hannah reassured Lydia. “He’s just . . . known to be a bit of a drinker. Going to saloons, staying out all night, staggering back home.”

  “He is very sweet, though,” Beatrice said. She was a true sweetheart and found it difficult to speak ill of anyone. “He suffered a lot when his mother passed.”

  “Yes, but who knows what’s going on in those saloons?” Hannah asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Let me put it this way. If I had a daughter, I’d keep her away from John Jackson,” Millie explained.

  Lydia hid her surprise. She had probably heard a rumor or two about John Jackson’s drinking, but she had never had a reason to take them seriously until now. “Well, that’s good to know. I hope he finds his way to the right path.”

  “I agree,” said Beatrice with a smile.

  Lydia wondered how strong her daughter’s feelings were for John Jackson and how hard it would be to stop them. She was now certain, more than ever, that she needed to put a stop to this nonsense.

  John Jackson whistled as he drove his wagon toward Graham’s Grub. He had dropped Willie off for the day after making all but one of their deliveries. He had just one more stop to make.

  John parked the wagon outside in his usual sp
ot, picked up the small package from the back, and strode toward the front door. He knocked on it and waited for someone to answer. He hoped it would be Patience.

  Robert Graham opened the door, and his face twisted into a mix of anger and irritation. “Mr. Jackson, what are you doing here?”

  John didn’t understand what he’d done wrong. He held up the item he was carrying. “I have a delivery for Patience, sir. Is she here? I’d like to say hello.”

  Robert grabbed the package out of John’s hand and regarded it suspiciously. “Fine.”

  John expected Robert to open the door further and let him in, but instead, the older man slammed the door in the younger man’s face. John took a step back. He was surprised at the old man’s sudden violent streak. He shrugged. He would have to make it a point to talk to her at church or on his next delivery run. He was disappointed to miss her, but he hoped she would appreciate what he had found for her—a hymn book wrapped in a tiny, delicate green ribbon. The mercantile received regular shipments of books, and as soon as John saw it, he knew it would be perfect for Patience. He knew that she loved to sing and that she was very talented at it, so he thought she might enjoy a special book of her own to take with her to and from church—or anywhere else she might want to carry it. John chuckled to himself as he thought about the previous day when he’d found her stuck in that storeroom all alone. What was it about the woman that just made John want to protect her so badly?

  From her bedroom window in the Graham’s living quarters, which were just the second floor of Graham’s Grub, Patience watched John walk away. She wished she could call out to him or communicate with him in some way. Her mother had returned from her sewing group with a fervor about Patience not being able to have anything to do with John—including talking to him or going to the door when he brought deliveries. Worse, she had even told Patience’s father the stories she’d heard about John’s drinking. Now, Robert was pacing the length of the first floor, ranting about irresponsible young men.

  Patience knew better than to interrupt her father when he was in one of his moods, but she had overheard John giving her father a package for her. She thought that was odd because she hadn’t ordered anything for herself or the restaurant. Usually, if she needed anything, she would either get it from her mother or make a trip to the mercantile. Her parents were the ones who ordered delivery goods. She wondered what could possibly be inside.

  At the Jackson house, John trudged through the door, hands shoved in his pockets.

  Toria looked up from the beef stew she was stirring on the stovetop, her apron pooched out far by the baby she carried. “Is something wrong? You seem a little down.”

  “It’s probably nothing, but I just made a delivery to Graham’s Grub. I was hoping to see Patience so I could give her the book I bought her as a gift. Her father wouldn’t let me see her. In fact, he slammed the door in my face!”

  Toria could tell from the way her stepson was recounting the story that he was very upset by what had happened. “I’m sorry that happened to you, John. That’s strange, isn’t it, Mortimer?”

  Mortimer was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table, and he looked up when he heard his name. “What’s that, dear?”

  Toria continued to stir the thick stew. John could smell it, and the aroma was heavenly. “John says Robert Graham from Graham’s Grub was not very welcoming to him when he delivered a package tonight,” Toria explained to her husband patiently. “Do you know why he’d have cause to do that?”

  Mortimer lowered the newspaper into his lap and frowned. “No, I can’t think of a reason. As far as I know, we’ve been able to get them everything they’ve ordered from the mercantile. So it can’t be that.”

  “Maybe Mr. Graham was just having a bad day.” John didn’t really believe that, but he didn’t want to dwell on a negative experience. Doing that would only spoil his dinner.

  “Stew’s ready.” Toria ladled healthy scoops of stew into small bowls and handed them to John and Mortimer, then made up a bowl for herself. Mortimer said a prayer, and they all began to eat.

  “This is delicious, Toria.” John ate another heaping spoonful. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, John,” Toria said. She was glad her stepson appreciated her cooking.

  Mortimer glanced at the newspaper he had been reading, which he had tossed on the table as he shoveled stew into his mouth. “There’s an article in here about a few robberies in town. Have either of you heard about them?”

  A look of concern clouded Toria’s face. “No, I haven’t. What’s been happening?”

  Mortimer sighed. “Apparently, there have been at least three in the last month. Toria, I want you to take extra precautions around the house and at the store. One of us should be with you at all times.”

  Toria nodded. “I understand, dear.” The truth was, she felt this was an overreaction, but she wanted to respect her husband’s wishes. She also knew that he had been devastated by his late wife’s death. He was only cautious with her because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. It was actually sweet, when she thought about it.

  “I also think we need to take extra precautions around the mercantile. John, in the mornings and evenings, I’d like you and Willie to go through the mercantile and make sure nothing seems off to you. Can you do that?” Mortimer continued.

  John thought about it. “We should be able to do that. We’ll have to figure out a system so we can do it efficiently and not waste a lot of time because we do need to make all of our delivery stops, too.”

  “I trust you’ll figure out a good system,” Mortimer told his son, and John beamed. After a long time of feeling like he had let his father down, it felt good to know that his father truly trusted him and believed in him.

  “I’ll tell Willie tomorrow first thing, and we’ll get to work,” John said.

  “Thank you, son.” Mortimer shook his head. “Never can be too careful these days. What with the women going missing lately, the fire, and now robberies . . . sometimes, when you think about it, I feel like this town is cursed or something.”

  “Please don’t say that,” Toria pleaded with her husband.

  “Why not, darling?” Mortimer’s eyes were filled with concern for his wife. She was usually very easygoing, no matter what was going on around her.

  “Creede is our family’s home, and there are good parts and bad parts to it. Saying that it’s cursed is wrong. I don’t think Reverend Bing would like to hear you saying that.” Toria looked at Mortimer sternly. She was rarely forceful with her words, but she felt strongly about the subject. There were many problems in Creede, but there were also many good people—like Reverend Bing and his sister Millie, Hannah Wheeler, Beatrice and Arthur Jameson—who were working very hard to make it a better place to live for all of its residents.

  Mortimer looked sheepish. “You’re right, Toria. You know sometimes I can overreact.”

  “Sometimes?” Toria teased. She tried to lighten the mood because it had felt strange to raise her voice earlier.

  “Okay. A good portion of the time,” Mortimer admitted.

  John looked back and forth between Mortimer and Toria and laughed. He hadn’t been thrilled when his father had announced he had gotten remarried, but Toria had turned out to be one of the most important people in his life. If she hadn’t come into their lives, John thought he might still be wandering around Creede from saloon to saloon, searching for his next drink.

  “Well, even though you may overreact, I’m glad it worked out. Because you and John, our little family, are truly the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m glad we both gave each other a chance,” Toria told her husband, her face shining with love.

  “That’s it!” John jumped up to his feet.

  Mortimer and Toria stared at him. “What’s it?” Mortimer asked.

  “Gave each other a chance . . . I know what I need to do.” John went out of the room and into his bedroom. A few minutes later, he flew down the stair
s, dressed in a white shirt and black pants. “I’ll be back soon!” John called as he rushed out the front door to the house.

  Mortimer and Toria looked at each other. “What’s gotten into him?” Mortimer wondered out loud.

  Toria shrugged. Being a stepmother was rewarding, but it was also extremely confusing.

  Outside, John prepared the horses and the wagon for a trip to Graham’s Grub. He wasn’t sure if his plan would work, but he had to try it. He wasn’t able to get Patience out of his head, and he knew he had to do everything within his power to win her heart.

  When he arrived at the restaurant, several wagons were parked outside. He made his way to the inside of the restaurant and saw that nearly every table was occupied. Good, John thought. That was part of his plan.

  All of the male servers in the restaurant wore white shirts and black pants, so John blended right in. Within no time, patrons were asking him for more water or to bring them menus. John was friendly and polite and figured out a way to answer all of their questions. He even cleared a few plates from customers who were done with their meals, stacked them, and dropped them off in the kitchen. Soon, he settled into a groove, and he found that he actually liked the work. It was fast-paced and interesting. No two tables were ever the same. Everyone was enjoying themselves and enjoying the food.

  Suddenly, John felt a tap on his shoulder as he was about to see if a table had cleared their plates yet. John turned around to find the owner of the small, delicate fingers that had tapped him. It was Patience, looking lovelier than ever in a white silk shirt and long black skirt.

  Her eyes were blazing. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

  “I just wanted to—” John tried to explain.

  “Shh!” she whispered furiously. “Storeroom. Five minutes.”

  John nodded solemnly. He would do anything Patience asked of him. That was a fact as sure as the sky was blue.